THE DANGERS OF KNITTING
by Songbird's Tune
Summary: Catwoman's accidentally faked her own death. Now, free from Gotham and attempting to take up a new hobby, she finds herself rescuing a little boy - heir to Ra's Al Ghul, the Demon's Head himself. Probably not her wisest decision ever, but neither is it her worst ...
1. suddenly, selina kyle is a saint

Okay. Look. I'm not a good person. No one has ever looked at me and said, 'gee, that Selina Kyle! That's one good person.'

It just doesn't happen.

I mean – let's be perfectly honest here – I've not been _trying _to get people to say that about me. It's never been one of my priorities.

But here I am, in the picturesque Himalayas and to my unpleasant surprise, some saint or angel or _some-bloody-something _(if it's a conscience … you wake up _now_?! Batman will be so happy; He might even … grunt.) has taken hold of one of my shoulders and is whispering in my ear.

I'm about to do something incredibly stupid.

And all because I wanted the wool of an extinct species of sheep.

Damn it.

'Take up a hobby,' Ivy said. 'Grow some orchids'

(I'd kill them – I can just picture it. Not enough water! Whoops! They're brown and wilted and then BOOM! Ivy at my doorstep, ready to take vengeance for the death of her children. I need to grow plants like I need a hole in the head)

"Colouring," my therapist suggested. "It will soothe you."

Colouring.

…

She's not my therapist anymore.

Where am I? The Himalayas. In a monastery. In a bare chamber with nothing but a bed (no mattress, no pillows - what is this? The retirement place for people wanting to punish themselves?) and a window with a stunning view. The moon is bright tonight, and the stares shine more brilliantly than diamonds. Magnificent mountains stand tall like overbearing shadows, moon washed clouds resting between them.

What a view.

A quiet snuffling.

Ah. Yes. A bed, a window, a view, and a little boy, lying naked in opposite corner, the moonlight revealing a body made dark with bruises.

Footsteps from the hall, I slide behind the door and wait for them to pass.

HOW THE HELL DID I GET MYSELF INTO THIS?

I wanted a wool from a newly extinct species of sheep

I heard a rumour

I followed the rumour to the ground

Climbed a mountain or two

Found this 'monastery'

Am in the process of robbing it

Hiding from Surprise Awake Monks!

Found this room

Found this boy

Hit a moral quandary

I'm not a good person, but I'm not a bad person either. (Something the Almighty Bat could never understand – grey areas. They exist. Just check out politics. Whole countries and modern democracy run on the fragrant fumes of corruption. And _I'm _the one being accused of being in the wrong. If the whole system is broken … ah well. Capitalism.)

It would be stupid and naïve to think that this boy is being well treated. I noticed him three days ago, while I was watching the monastery (which is just as much a monastery as I am the Queen of England). He was being trained in the courtyard.

Nothing unusual about that – there was more than one person receiving training in the courtyard. But he was the only child.

About three, I would say. Or two, if he's a bigger child.

Call me stupid, but I don't think that's a healthy upbringing. Especially the charming little exercise where they beat him till he bled and then demanded him to get back in position _again_.

And then, when I finally made my first foray (no wool, damn it) yesterday evening, I found his study; a room, stupendously furnished with thick rugs and big chairs and floor to ceiling bookshelves.

Pretty sweet set up. For a _bookworm_.

I should have left it. But then I eavesdropped. And yes, sure, curiosity didn't kill the cat, but it awoke a conscience. Ugh. A _conscience. _

And now here I am – looking for _yarn_. And kidnapping a kid.

Batman, I blame you.

Okay. I've never stolen a kid before. Didn't plan on this being my new hobby. But there we go, I'm a thief and I'm branching out.

I step over to the kid, and lean down. I gather him in my arms. He's light as a feather and something in me – that I'll never admit to a soul – snaps.

How _dare _they? I think.

And then, just as the kid begins to stir, I take us both to the window.

And leap.

Cold mountain air embraces me, the stars twinkle down, one arm tucks a child to me, the other holding the line. And that thin, sultry, deceptive echo of everything I've wanted to leave behind throbs – just a little bit.

A whiff of adventure and the cat will purr.

Only, tonight, with the kid in my arm and my memory of what they were doing to him, of what they were saying … Gotham seems very far away.

Pick a hobby, Ivy said.

Well, look at me now, just look at me now.

Selina Kyle, Catwoman, Feline Fatale and Saviour to A Random Child I Found Who I Think Is In Training To Be A Mini Man Killing And World Conquering Demon.

A Random Child Who Is Possibly Less Than Three Years Old.

Child rearing just isn't what it used to be nowadays.

I regret everything.

"Return me to my home," the kid demands. Again.

I'm applying an antiseptic cream to his many, _many _bruises.

"No," I say. Again.

"Who are you to kidnap me, Gwandson to Wa's Al Ghul?"

Yeah. Oh _shit_, I think you're thinking.

Turns out that this kid is connected to the League of Shadows. _And I still don't have my damn wool_.

"I'm your guardian angel, kid."

"Tt. Our definitions would vawy."

Another wound – this one open and oozing on his ribs. Seriously. _Who does this to a child? _Oh wait. The League of Shadows.

Clearly Talia is winning _all _the awards for child rearing. I can just see her accepting Mother of the Year and then launching into a speech. A long, long, longggg speech that is so verbose and boring that it ends with everyone stabbing themselves in the eye with a fork.

The child glares at me.

"I shall slay you, you insig- insignificant _worm_."

And then, of course, he launches himself at me and attempts to stab me in the neck with a dagger. Again.

It's like a baby lion try and attack you. It's cute. It's intensely annoying.

THE KID

He has black hair, blue eyes, and a short nose.

He is also as hard to keep in one place as an oiled pig*

*I've only tried to do that once. In the end, I shot the pig. Nobody has time for that.

* * *

a.n: i should warn you that this is somewhat of a crack!fic in that: a) timelines and storylines will be butchered. b) canon will not always be upheld and c) it's entirely self-gratifying for me. i adore the batfamily. therefore, this will have the batfamily in it. muhahaha.

i make no apologies. continue at your own risk


	2. INTERLUDE OF BAT MEMORIES (1)

**INTERLUDE OF BAT MEMORIES**

I was in the middle of a highly involved extraction of a nice little diamond piece, when the gravel like voice of Batman told me that (and I quote) 'that doesn't belong to you'.

World's Greatest Detective standing right here, ladies and gentlemen.

I ignored him. That night, I wasn't feeling all too ready to play our worn-out game. Talk about chasing your tail, it had been years and still we played the same old song.

Batman didn't like being ignored.

"Catwoman, return the necklace to its case."

Usually, I would have pulled my 'seduce and confuse the hell out of Batman' routine out of the bag. It was always fun. And a girl had to have her fun, right? But that night? Hell no.

"Let me think about it …" I said as I slipped the necklace into my pouch and smiled kindly at the false one I'd left in its place. "Hmmmm, how about – no?"

"Not an option." He was closer now. Behind me. Bad move on my part. You should never leave your back vulnerable: Gotham Survival 101.

But unfortunately, I wasn't feeling up to strategizing. To playing our game.

To_ pandering_ to him.

To being the good little kitten who did as he expected. Always just out of reach for him, but always willing to come when he beckoned. Always ready to play.

_Pathetic._

I'd been _pathetic._

I didn't turn and slink up to him, run my hand over the bat insignia, and kiss him.

I turned and kissed him. With my foot.

Claws out, ready to scratch.

We fought. I think he was bewildered – I'd never _fought_ before. Not properly. Shown my claws? Oh yes. But _fought_? Without laughter or sly comments? No. I fought him. I put every ounce of my training, every scrap of energy and anger I could summon and I flung it at him.

He won – I let him, in the end. I'd had enough. He was holding me down on a nearby rooftop. I was panting, sucking air desperately into my lungs. He wasn't cool and collected either. He was panting. Blood dripping from where my claws had found purchase.

"Catwoman. Why?" he growled out.

"Because you're a goddamn hypocrite, handsome," I spat out my petname for him like an insult. "You break the law time and time again and judge me, for merely stealing what people don't need, and insurance companies will cover."

"I break the law to enforce it," the big-headed lummox had the audacity to say.

I glared up at him. His face so close to mine.

His mouth so close to mine.

I kissed him. Sue me. I'm a selfish idiot.

He kissed me back.

And then I thrust him away and stood, reaching into my pouch and flinging the necklace at him. He caught it with deftness.

"Here," I said. "I'm sure you'll sleep well tonight, knowing you've recovered a rich ass's bauble."

I clapped my hands together in mocking applause, taking one step and then another away from him. "Bravo, Batman. Keeping Gotham safe, protecting her citizens, one rich prick at a time."

I wasn't being fair to him. But then, he'd never been fair to me, had he?

"Selina. What's wrong?"

Framed against the city skyline, I stared at his outline. I remembered the first time I ever saw him. The first time I kissed him. The first time he kissed me back. And the first time he told me that a relationship between us would never work because I bent the law a little. (I may have paraphrased that.)

"Nothing," I told him. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't bitter. (And dramatic, but mostly bitter.) "I'm just seeing the truth for the first time."

I leapt off the roof. Leaving him with a false necklace in his hands.

What? You think I'd give the original up?

_Puh-lease._


	3. snapshot of selina kyle's mind

Gotham and I are on the quits. Yes, it's the city of that is woven into the very fibre of my being, but we are on the quits. Batman glowered at me one too many times, and a tiny incy seed of doubt crept into my soul ('Is stealing … _bad_?' *shudder*). Also … there was the little factor of _I accidentally faked my own death in front of the entire Justice League. _It felt like a fresh start – the community of capes and sticks-up-their-butts thought that I, Catwoman, was dead. Ergo, I can do what the hell I want.

(Selina Kyle enter stage left, sil'vous plait.)

It turns out that I'm using my freedom to … develop a passion for knitting.

Oh yes.

_Meow._

(I've fallen so damn far; I'm ashamed of myself.)

Gotham and I are _temporarily _on the quits. But I've suddenly acquired a small demon child, which is a nice distraction from my little crisis.

"Moder will come for me," insists the demon, holding his bowl out. His hands are so small it makes the bowl look humongous. Huh. Maybe he found a bottle that said 'Drink Me' and now has shrunk.

I look at him a little suspiciously while I give him another helping of ice cream.

"Of course, she will, kid," I say.

"Of course," the demon mutters as the ice cream disappears with alarming speed. "This food is good. Will it improve my fighting speed?"

Ah yes. Everything I do for him – 'Will dis enhance my logic?' 'Will dis aid my combat abilities?' 'Will dis help my powers of deduction?'

Sure, kid.

Sure, it will.

It will improve your childhood, you little monster.

It's been three weeks now, and Talia hasn't appeared.

I'm disappointed, there is nothing I'd like more than to sink my claws into her. Nothing.


	4. ZATANNA IS EVIL AND HERE'S WHY - or how

ZATANNA IS EVIL AND HERE'S WHY - or how Selina Kyle accidentally saved a large portion of humanity. maybe

I faked my death. Accidentally. The circumstances are murky - and by 'murky' I mean that _I may have hallucinated the majority of it. _It would explain the presence of the giant bong though.

It happened because I managed to get roped into joining the Justice League of America. Crazy days, huh? I'm going to blot it all over and file it in my _I will always deny it happened _file. GENIUS ideas, but what can I say? I was experimenting. Trying to see how the hero cape fitted me.

(Terribly, if you're interested.)

What I ended up with was … a bad situation, to say the least. Now a bad situation happens every week nowadays. The world was threatened, billions of people would die, including your grandmother's favourite cousin's nephew (good riddance) and blah blah blah.

It happens all the time. Nothing new about it.

But do you know what _was _new?

This time … yes, this time there was no way out.

Also, I don't remember everything.

The villain – Evil Mc'Doofass (I refuse to say his name. It's terrible and unoriginal and the very fact that he _got _to the position that he did says something about our 'heroes') (It says they're incompetent bags of hot air) – had everyone nicely cornered.

How? I can hear you demanding. How were the world's mightiest heroes cornered? HOW? THEY ARE SO GOSH DARN GOOD AND BRILLIANT AND ALMIGHTY?

Weed.

I am not lying.

Really._ Weed._

Or at least, that's what my memories show me. There is the wee problem of some of my memories having been replaced and/or tampered with. But I'm not going to be upset over that.

(I am lying.)

(I am furious.)

So. Here we were (the JLA and the JL walked into a 'super'villain's lair … sounds like the beginning of a joke, huh?) in this aircraft hanger. In the centre, there was a huge glass tube. Clearly built as a giant, indestructible bong.

( … yes, words fail me.)

Inside that was a bomb. A huge bomb. The sort of 'this will most certainly wipe out a great portion of humanity via the chemicals it will release' bomb that come so _easily_ on the black market nowadays.

Also in the bong?

Me.

With the bomb.

It's terribly convoluted – but the long and short of it was that no one could get in and get out and survive.

I'm lying. It's not convoluted. Or at least, my _memories _say it's not. The idiot villain guffawed and said 'HaHA no one can leave the bong _alive_.' Everyone believed him. Because everyone is _very _intelligent.

Superman was suffering the aftereffects of kryptonite dust inhalation (honestly, everything is getting _very _tired at this point. No one is trying anything new. It's all the same old same old) Wonder Woman was tied up (… I'm just going to leave that there. Getting tied up was a weakness? The Greeks were into some kinky stuff, huh?). J'ohn J'onz had been burned. Flash was stuck in some sort of super glue puddle (heaven help us all. The world's heroes - ladies and gentlemen, laid waste by super glue, a bit of light bondage and dust) … should I go on?

Everyone was stuck, unconscious, and a few unfortunates were in an alarming state of undress.

_(Weed. All because of weed. The mind boggles. Say no to drugs, kids.)_

(Have you ever wanted to see the upright citizens of the world high? No? Well, I have had the unfortunate pleasure. It's not as a fun as you might think.)

Also, just to add a nice little touch of anticipation to the air – the bomb was about to go off.

I have many, many thoughts on the foolishness of villains who _put a bomb on a timer because they didn't believe that they could possibly apprehend a nice little band of heroes. _Self-doubt. Clearly. We were about to die hideously because a pothead villain didn't realise that his designs were great enough to actually stop a group of metas and aliens and very. angry. humans dressed in capes.

(And no, he had yet to get Batman. Batman was fighting him still. Hence the bomb. He was scared of Batman and _so he was going to blow us all up_. EVEN THOUGH BATMAN WAS VERY CLOSE TO BLEEDING OUT.)

Sweet mother of-

Fortunately for me - or rather, _unfortunately, _as the case may be - I was there as a sort of last-minute thing. I hadn't planned on being there. In fact, I was in the middle of a nice catnap when my communicator buzzed. And when I was stupid enough to _answer _it, I was teleported to the JLA HQ.

I was informed that the Justice League were in _dire straits. _

You know that phrase … curiosity killed the cat?

There's a reason for it.

I managed to get into the facility. I remember _that_.

And then … Zatanna sensed me. She was bound up. And instead of oh I don't know _using her magic to free herself _… she took an extremely creative route.

(We hate Zatanna, by the way. We loathe her guts and we hope her magic turns on her and transforms her into a turnip. We hope her worst enemy eats her. We hope that she is aware for the entire experience.) and Zatanna being there meant that she tampered with my mind.

(Because, of course she did. Heroes are so morally _white,_ aren't they? No grey to them, is there, Handsome?)

Zatanna controlled me.

I helped Batman a little. Distracted The Stoner (_not _his villain name but … appropriate). And then I take the bomb.

I remember Zatanna using me to cry: 'I CANNOT POSSIBLY DISARM THIS. I WILL DO THE ONLY THING THAT CAN BE DONE.'

I will always especially hate her for making me say that.

It would have been gratifying if Batman had said '_No! Don't DO THIS!' _but the poor man was bleeding out and just been attacked by killer drones. (Typical Tuesday for the Bats, I know.)

My memory fails there and the next thing I can recall, I'm _in the bong. With the bomb. _Ah yes, the poetry of hero-ing.

I have yet to disarm the bomb and it will certainly go off in about _oh, I don't know fifteen seconds._

I don't remember doing anything. I think I must have stood there. But what I _do _recall - with such crystal clarity which means that either it is a correct memory or Zatanna has got a lot better at the whole mind rape issue (… so it's a correct memory then) - is the look on Bat's face. He'd fought off the drones. Knocked out the villain. Again, typical Tuesday. Untypical? His face.

(Or rather his chin. It's the way his mouth is tense. As if he wants to call me out on the rubbish I'm spouting.)

I don't know what I was saying, but it's clearly something sickeningly heroic and _not-_me.

('THIS BONG IS THE GREATEST BOMB SHELTER EVER BUILT,' I hope I didn't say but have a bad feeling that I might have done. 'BUILT AND SEALED AGAINST A NUCLEAR WAR. THIS BOMB WILL NOT HURT YOU, MY DEAR DARK KNIGHT. YOU HAVE FINALLY PENETRATED MY COLD DEAD THEIF'S HEART. FAREWELL.)

(Did I mention how much I hate Zatanna's guts? No? Well I do. I hope the tree that is granting her oxygen dies. And then her.)

The World's Greatest Detective isn't stupid enough to actually believe whatever the hell it is I was saying.

Obviously.

We'd known each other too many years for that.

But for some reason I'm standing behind a glass with my hand against it, and he _places his own hand against mine _with only the glass to separate us.

It's like we were stuck in a rom-com. Or in Star Trek. Only I have better eyebrows.

I'm pretty sure that Zatanna was high in this moment. High, and controlling my mind. What a _purr-fect_ mixture.

Batman was looking at me and his mouth is doing that tense thing _but worse_. (Worry? Pity?). He mouths something to me.

I've no idea _what_. I've thought and thought and _thought_ about it but … I still come up with zilch. Nothing. Nada.

The clock was ticking. The bomb had a _literal _countdown.

(I CANNOT STRESS WHAT AN IDIOT THIS SO-CALLED VILLAIN WAS.)

This was the first time I'd properly been face to face with Batman since Gotham. Since I'd stopped playing our endless, eternal game. (It turns out I'm a pro at avoiding Batman.)

I was going to die. I knew that. I couldn't control _me_. I was barely aware of anything but I knew I was going to die.

I remember distantly wising I could say something. But alas, what I _was _saying was so awful that I wish I hadn't opened my mouth at all.

And then the bomb goes off. Contained and safe.

And I'm in Mumbai, awake and aware.

I have working theories – that Zatanna lost consciousness and I pressed the teleporter just as the bomb went off. Or perhaps Zatanna _didn't _lose consciousness and transported me.

Does it make up for what she did? No. No, it does not.

It's rather insulting that:

She doubted I could free the League on my own.

That she thought I was in capable of throwing a bomb into a bong and closing the door. Because the bong had a door.

That she thought I should redeem myself. And made me say things to Batman so he thought that …

Or perhaps it was all a fever dream. I've done me best to research the so-called villain and I can't find too much on him. If Zatanna changed my memories so that I thought there was a _giant-_

Enough.

I only know three things:

Zatanna _did _something to me on that mission.

That everyone thinks I'm _dead_. Seriously. Go read the obituary on the JLA's press relations website. It's … words cannot describe my feelings towards it.

Batman didn't attend my 'funeral'. He'd hardly put the 'fun' in funeral _but really_. You'd have _thought …_

One day I'm going to hack into the Batcomputor and read Bat's report on what actually happened. I'm sure it will be mind-numbingly dry.


End file.
